


home for me is where you are

by swishandflickwit



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Marichat, Marichat au, Miraculous Ladybug - Freeform, and it isnt chat noir lol, marichat fan fiction, marichat ff, marichat fluff, miraculous ladybug fan fiction, miraculous ladybug ff, there is a kitty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swishandflickwit/pseuds/swishandflickwit
Summary: “What the hell, Chat? You better have a good reason for waking me up from, quite frankly, anexquisitedream and—is that a cat?”Marichat + a kitten





	home for me is where you are

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on some plot ~~and smut~~ heavy ML fics so I took a break and wrote this one, short and sweet. A little cussing but they're growing teens so if that's a peeve you are free to turn back lol. Other than that, I hope you like it!
> 
> Title from the song Take Me Home by Us the Duo

_"I can’t hide it anymore,” Adrien rasped, ardency and excitement making him tremble and shudder against her when he pulled her close. He nuzzled her neck and breathed into her skin so that she felt_ and _heard him say, “I love you, Mari—”_

_“—_ NETTE!”

Said lady gasped awake as she tumbled from her bed in a tangled heap of limbs and blankets. Chat Noir knocked on her window harder. He may not see her loft bed from his place by her round window, but he recognized the hard thump of a signature Marinette stumble.

“ _Mon dieu!_ Are you all right?”

Marinette gritted her teeth as she began the difficult process of extricating herself from the clutches of her evidently pernicious sheets. She growled.

“Just _peachy,_ ” she muttered, opening her window and dodging the boy’s tail as he landed in her room. “What the hell, Chat? You better have a good reason for waking me up from, quite frankly, an _exquisite_ dream and— _is that a cat?_ ”

“I’m really sorry,” he whimpered as he turned around and stepped into the light to reveal what was most _certainly_ a cat. A _newborn_ kitten, to be precise. “I would have taken her home, but I live too far away and I don’t think she’ll make it! She’s too cold!”

At the distressing tremble in his voice, she rattled awake. She’d never seen Chat Noir so shaken—the black of his suit emphasizing the pallid, almost sickly, sheen his normally tan skin had taken. The sight of him, so young and afraid, had drained whatever anger or irritation she harbored from his first appearance till only empathy and concern remained. Her mind cleared and she was springing into action, albeit in calm and hushed movements.

“Go up to my loft. Cover her body and stay against the side of the wall. Please, if we’re doing this, my parents _cannot_ find out.”

“So you’ll help me?” his voice broke at the question. She squeezed the arm holding the _petit minou_ and smiled, small and reassuring, “Of course. _Always._ ”

His relief was a staggering, laden thing—brimming his atmosphere till it was flowing into hers. He leaned into her touch.

_“Thank you.”_

“Go,” she urged him. “I’ll be right back.”

She grabbed her phone once she settled both cats beneath her covers and began typing with furious efficiency—how to care for kittens, after all, was a quick Google search away. From what little she’d seen of the babe, it was a day old and in need of 24-hour care so lucky for her, it was the weekend. She was happy to note that they had instinctually covered the first order of business, which was to warm the sweet creature up.

Marinette noted that they would need to feed _her_ , if Chat’s gender assignment was indeed correct, every three hours as well as—

“Stimulate her genitals? _Merde…_ ”

Newborn kittens, as she had come to learn, were completely dependent on their keeper for everything—waste elimination included. Deciding to put _that_ thought off till absolutely necessary, she made her way to the kitchen on soundless feet, careful not to wake her parents. The Dupain-Cheng abode had no reason to house baby bottles but they did have small droppers and until she could go out later (yes, _later_ , because she was Marinette Committed Dupain-Cheng and she was an all-in or all-out girl— _no in-betweens_ ), it would have to do. So would the carton of milk though powdered milk would have been preferable. Again, a problem for _Later-Marinette_.

She couldn’t microwave a mug of milk for obvious, _parental_ reasons so she opted to do it old-school. That was, she poured enough milk for two mugs onto a small pot and let it simmer atop the stove. As the milk cooled, she washed the the metal saucepan with a prayer to the patron saint of teenage rebellion that she not be struck with demon-clumsiness. She accomplished her tasks with nary an accident and with quiet thanks, she stowed away any lingering evidence and inspected the kitchen, assuring that it looked the way she arrived. Satisfied, she took the two mugs and the dropper up to her room.

“Hey,” she whispered to the lump on her bed.

“She’s warmer,” the lump replied before Chat’s head popped up from underneath her blanket. She joined him because it was fall and though it was toasty and dark, it occurred to her then that she was only in her tights and tank top and there was a _boy in her bed._ She blushed, hoping the gloom was enough to cover her reddened cheeks. Admittedly, it was a weird sight, seeing this was _not_ how she imagined having a boy in her bed the first time but hey, that was neither here nor there.

_Shut up, Marinette_ , she thought to herself. _This is_ Chat Noir _. He’s not a boy. I mean, he_ is _a boy but he’s a superhero who just so happens to be a friend but a_ superhero _nonetheless and you are too but not right_ now _so really_ —it doesn’t count.

_This isn’t weird at all._

“This is weird,” Chat breathed into the space between them. He was on his back, the kitten on his chest while she was on her side facing him. He turned to her, and she couldn’t see him clearly (which only confirmed the visibility of her blush, which was to say, _not at all_ , much to her content) but she could sense his embarrassment in the way panic transformed the low grovel in his voice to a keening shriek.

“Not that _you’re_ weird, just that _I’m_ weird cause I barged right in here with no invitation and I _woke_ you and I’m so, so, _so sorry,_ Marinette, I’m an idiot—”

He cut himself off as Marinette giggled. She giggled till it melted into full on chortles that came over her so strongly she had to bite her pillow to stifle the sounds. Chat looked on confusedly before joining her, her laughter mesmerizing and infectious.

“Sorry, I just…” Marinette bit her lip before another round of laughter could conquer her. She took a deep breath and smiled. “I was thinking the same thing, except I was trying to make it _not_ weird and now that I know how you feel, I’m just relieved I’m not the only one. I mean,” she shrugged as she felt her limbs loosen and the effervescent amiability of friendship settled in the air around them. “You’re my friend, Chat. Being there for each other is kind of part of the deal, you know?”

“I don’t actually,” he said softly as he released a shaky breath.

Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t have a lot of experience with friendships. I-it’s not like it’s an entirely novel concept for me but being a good friend…” he was about to bring a hand up to rub the back of his neck, the way he usually did when he felt uncomfortable, before he thought better of it. He had all ready revealed too much. “I’m still working on it.”

Marinette, on the other hand, felt herself stir at the familiarity of his situation. The force of Chat Noir’s green eyes hit her and a part of her soul sparked in recognition. But then he was looking away, smiling contentedly down at the ball of fuzz on his chest, and without the anchor of his gaze the tender intimacy of him slowly evanesced till it was as if it never was.

But wisps of her affection remained, for though Chat Noir and Marinette had spoken for meaningful, albeit brief, pockets of time, Ladybug saw him everyday. She knew his _heart_ , and it’s openness had never been more clear to her than on this night. So she scooted closer till she could rest her cheek on his shoulder.

“I think you’re off to a good start.”

He smiled.

Marinette pulled away and Chat Noir almost grumbled. But then she declared the kitty warm (make that _both_ kitties. Marinette’s sheets were not Egyptian cotton, but they were delightfully toasty and they smelled like her—like freshly baked cookies and warm summer sun—and that was somehow _better_ ) and that it was time to start feeding her. This feeling of bereavement for Marinette and _her_ warmth was for a good cause, he reminded himself.

They sat up, the cat nestled in his palm, a mug atop the mattress between them and the dropper in Marinette’s hand. She worried that she wouldn’t feed and that would have been a bigger problem. They held their breaths but it was with little prompting that the kitten opened her mouth and began to suckle the milk in earnest. Their breaths were baited in vain and they both let go with a muted squeal of triumph. They feeded her a little over a couple of sips—because cow’s milk wasn’t an ideal formula for kittens—and when she withdrew, Marinette set a three-hour timer on her phone for the next meal which was scheduled around 6AM.

Chat Noir bundled the _chaton_ between them and burrowed onto his side, one hand under his head and the other beneath the kitten. Marinette mirrored his comfy stance. They both gazed at the ebony bump with irrefutable fondness.

“What's her name?” she asked, lifting a finger to trace her furry back.

“You know, I hadn't thought about it.” He scratched lightly at the little one's head before caressing her.

“Where'd you find her?”

“In the alley, behind your house.”

“Chat…” she was reluctant to voice her next question, but what kind of friend would she be if she didn't worry for him? She steeled herself and asked mildly, so that it wouldn't sound like an affront.

“What were doing out so late?”

“I was patrolling.”

_“Chat.”_

“Fine,” he sighed, a harsh exhalation of breath through his nose. “I have trouble sleeping, okay? I wasn't lying. I _do_ patrol when I can't sleep. And it's not the whole of Paris… only in the vicinity of the people I care about.”

Marinette was stunned. Heat bloomed in her chest, a smoldering and unassuming ember that heated her veins and rose to the fleshy apple of her cheeks. Chat Noir? Cared? For _her_? She was aware he possessed a sensitive side sure, but she was under the impression he reserved it for Ladybug. While Marinette had never been in want of friendship or affection, there were times when it was baffling that a hopeless, clumsy thing as her could inspire such… loyalty.

In the wake of her silence, Chat coughed, as if it could dispel the vulnerability he felt from his bones at having just admitted _that_.

“Anyway,” he started again in a rather pointed tone that begged her not to comment. “I circled two blocks for her mom. She wasn't around. And I just… I couldn't unsee her. I couldn't _leave_ her. She had all ready been abandoned that night. I wasn't going to let there be a second time.”

At this point, he wondered if he broke her. Marinette hadn't uttered a word in response to anything he confessed in the last five minutes or so. She was just staring at him with her mouth slightly hung open, eyeing him like she'd never seen him before or maybe was seeing him in another light? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? _Foutre_ , now he wanted to bash his head against the conveniently placed wall behind him. Perhaps there was a subtle way to jump from one’s skin or shrivel up and die…

As he was stewing (and spiralling) in his thoughts, Marinette was gathering hers. What do you say to such a revelation? How are you supposed to respond when someone divulged themselves to you the way Chat had? The way she could _never_ be brave enough to do, much less _try_. He had opened himself in so few words, had peeled the layers of his skin till she saw the very soul of him, and he was lovely and radiant and _beautiful_.

She had never been good with words, so she decided to show him instead. She placed her hand on his chest and the taction of his heartbeat against her palm was a mesmeric andante she found herself syncing to so that her breaths came out in even gasps instead of fervid pants indicative of a sob.

She glided her fingers up the swooping hollow of his throat, the graceful arch of his neck before she rested it on his cheek, fingers splayed along his skin like she wanted to touch him all over. She ran her thumb across the sharp angle of his cheekbone.

“You're wonderful friend, Chat Noir. I think you're doing fine,” she sighed into his lips as she scooted closer to his warmth. “Just fine.”

He was falling. Wait, that wasn't right. Marinette’s eyes were a resplendent cerulean against the backdrop of the night and he was powerless to look away. Her orbs were a vast, encompassing pool and he was drowning. But that wasn't right either, was it? Because looking at her, he was inundated with coolness—like the world could crumble and shatter all around him and he would be _still_ be suspended in this tranquillity. He felt buoyant.

Her eyes were the wide, unending sky—and he was _flying_.

He placed his hand on her waist and he had never scorned the protective covering of his leathers before today because his palm grazed the sliver of skin there. What was it about the night? He felt naked but not exposed, raw but not spent. He had revealed things, intimate things, that he could only admit to the deepest, darkest parts of him. Yet, impossible as he thought it was, he felt like his soul had fused to her own. Was it because the night could hide the sides of them that felt the ugliest? Then again, there was hardly anything _ugly_ about her.

So there was only one conclusion: it was simply _Marinette_ , and she was the decadent glow that transcended all the adumbrate fragments that was his patchwork soul. She filled him with so much light and life he forgot what it was to be lonely or heartsick.

“Thank you, Marinette.”

“It’s nothing, Chat Noir.”

“Stop,” he began, “it's everything. To me, it is.” He gripped the hand enveloping his cheek, needing her to understand. “It wasn't exactly coincidence that I was near your home tonight. Please don't be alarmed. The truth is… your friendship is one of the most sure things in my life and, well—I like knowing you're safe. You feel like home to me. You feel more like home than my real home.”

She pressed her forehead against his. “If I’m the home, it's only cause you're the heart.” She glided her nose along the bridge of his. “You have a place here, any time. _Literally_.”

They shared a chuckle before his lips brushed the bangs from her head and found purchase on her flesh. They looked down in perfect accord as their eyes were drawn to the one feline who evoked it all.

“She still needs a name,” she said.

He gave it more than a moment's thought before he decided. “Kira. Kira Noir.”

“Kira the kitty,” she tittered. “Congratulations, you're a father.”

“Shut up, Marinette,” he scoffed. “I'm obviously the _mom_.”

“Excuse you,” she retorted, poking him in the side. He captured her hand. “Am I not the provider of sustenance?”

“I found her!”

“I _fed_ her! Feeder trumps finder!”

They fell into their usual friendly banter until they were falling _into_ one another, foreheads touching, fingers entwined and breaths matching as they surrendered to slumber. They had realigned until she was the axis with which he revolved around.

When Marinette next opened her eyes, it was to the dawn breaking over the horizon, light creeping up the edge of the covers as if drawn to Chat Noir's figure in repose. She smiled down at him, the glow of youth, _true_ youth—not just in the way he looked but the way he felt—painted a healthy flush to his serene visage.

She twisted to the side of her bed where she had planted the mugs, filled the dropper, and fed Kira a few drops before restarting her timer. She looked over at Chat Noir.

He needed to go home, no matter how much she wanted him to stay. Surely, his absence would be noted in his house? Then of course, she had to buy a baby bottle and powdered milk after which she had to smuggle both items and Kira _and_ Chat Noir (not that this was a huge problem but she had to feed him too, right? It would be downright rude not to. Cookies though, were one thing, but there was only so much pastries she could smuggle) to her room without raising her parents’ suspicions. Then there were things he said and _she_ said that made her blush to the roots of her hair till she felt like she could go into spontaneous human combustion at any moment.

But that was a problem for _Later-Marinette._

Now… _now_ , she reveled in this—in _him_. She found a spare scrap of fabric she used as a makeshift blanket and a basket fit for Kira which she deposited her in before placing the tiny, craft bassinet onto her nightstand.

She traced Chat Noir's _chat_ ear before running her fingers through his aurelent locks. _Silky_ , she sighed, and delighted when he purred. Had she woken him? His breathing, however, remained even. Certain of his lethargy, she bent down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead before reuniting with him under the covers. She burrowed onto her mattress, a hair strand shy of touching him but not brave enough to bridge the minuscule distance between them. She told herself it was enough.

But his hand snaked around her waist and pulled her close, effectively diminishing the pesky gap that had remained. He nuzzled her neck and the action reminded her, strangely enough, of her dream with Adrien from earlier. It occurred to her then that this entire night had been the longest she’d gone without sparing him a thought. It hadn't felt as jarring or calamitous as she thought it _should_ be.

But again, that was a problem for _Later-Marinette_ to analyze... or was it? Her feelings for Adrien suddenly felt cursory, like the slightest breeze could blow it away, and that breeze came in the form of an inky, feline fluff and a shadow stowing through her window in the night. Chat's hand against her middle was weighted and present. It made her feel grounded and stable, which was a riot given she was a disaster on two feet. But he was solid and steady and honest and _real_ , so truly, was problem the right word? It, or rather, _he_ was hard to classify as such because in all honesty—

He was starting to feel like home, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Just putting it out there that while it’s great for plot and fluff reasons, this is v, v problematic if you’re a teen so for obvious reasons—kids, DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME ESPECIALLY SINCE SAID HOME BELONGS TO YOUR PARENTS/GUARDIANS AND AS LONG AS YOU LIVE UNDER THEIR ROOF YOU MUST ABIDE BY THEIR RULES.
> 
> Ok, Big Sister duties done, come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://swishandflickwit.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
